


Cullen's Regret

by RedTigerRose



Series: Writing Prompts [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood Mages, Chantry Boys, Consensual Sex, Drunk Sex, F/M, Forbidden Love, Headcanon, Kinloch Hold, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Mages and Templars, POV Cullen Rutherford, Regret, Spoiled Princess, Templar Cullen, Temptation, The Chantry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:24:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTigerRose/pseuds/RedTigerRose
Summary: Writing Prompt:Heartbreak, Distraction, An ear to listen.Cullen remembers his night with a certain circle mage and has incredibly mixed feelings.





	Cullen's Regret

Sun slanted through tall windows as Cullen walked through the halls of Kinloch Hold. He had been switched to morning rounds and was still adjusting to the difference in the atmosphere of the tower, which bustled with life at this time of day. The smell of eggs and bacon drifted from the main hall, the sounds of footsteps and voices down the halls as apprentices and mages went about their daily business.

  
He blinked his eyes which were red and bleary from lack of sleep that had nothing to do with the switch from night to morning shift. His stomach churned with guilt as the rhythmic footfalls of his armored feet echoed against the tall stone walls.

  
He should never have let the other Templars talk him into joining in their shenanigans during his night off. His body was wracked with guilt as he wondered what could have been.

  
When shift change had come around, one of the other Templars, Thomas, had invited him to come for drinks at the _Spoiled Princess_ just off the shore of Lake Calenhad. Cullen wasn’t much of a drinker and hadn’t really developed any strong friendships amongst the ranks of his peers. However, the thought of getting out of the tower for just a night had been appealing, and he found himself going along with them.

  
_Oh, Maker. What a mistake._

  
Pausing briefly as he made his way through the library, he glanced at the back of the rows of bookshelves to where she used to always sit, auburn hair shining brightly in the candlelight as she read through her books in comfortable silence. The chair now stayed empty, as though the other mages and apprentices were too afraid to approach the spot she used to haunt. He felt heartache deep into his core as he gazed longingly, remembering the times she would glance up from her readings and catch his eye, clear blue to golden brown, her lips curving into a soft smile before quickly glancing away.

  
Since that fateful night at the _Spoiled Princess_ , he had thrown himself into his duties with a newfound devotion, hoping for any type of distraction from what he had done. Several times, he wanted to approach the Revered Mother, to pour out his sins before he simply exploded.

  
But what could he say? So much of what had happened was forbidden. Perhaps at some point, his superiors would be forgiving; but with the rise of trouble amongst the mages with blood magic and escaping, he was already walking on thin ice. Most of all, he feared scrutiny from his peers, judgment from his superiors, and dismissal from his Templar duties. And then what? Return home, disgraced and ashamed?

  
No, it wasn’t an option. It would be impossible to find an ear to listen to his confession. He would have to carry it to the grave, and in return, give his all to the Maker and to the Chantry. Maker forgive him, but he needed redemption.

  
It wasn’t so bad, until he returned to the tower for his next shift, and heard of what had happened while he had been on his rotation off from duty. How a blood mage had revealed themselves in all their darkened glory and escaped the grasps of the Templars. How the Templars were now taking an absolute no-nonsense approach to the mages now. The tower was practically on lockdown.

  
And she was gone.

  
He feared to ask after her. If he mentioned her at all to anyone else, they might start to wonder. He knew that the blood mage who had escaped had been her friend, and he feared the worst had become of her.

  
His mind flashed to the last time he had seen her. Through a foggy memory made almost opaque by the copious amounts of ale his peers had force-fed him during his evening at the Spoiled Princess, he saw her coming through the door. She was alone, and he thought he was going crazy. But there she was, approaching the innkeeper, handing some shining object over to him and having a tankard of ale for herself. She sat at the bar by herself, as though she did this every night.

  
But there was no way, there was no way, he told himself. She was a circle mage, what was she doing here?

  
His fellow peers, already twelve jugs deep in ale, were slowly coupling off with some of the female patrons and serving girls as the evening dragged on. He knew that this was one of the activities they indulged in during days off, something Cullen had never had much interest in.

  
He couldn’t remember who initiated the conversation, but his memory jumped to him sharing a jug of ale with the mage he had always pined after. His mind was so clouded by alcohol, he struggled to remember what she had told him.

  
Something about leaving, although he wasn’t sure where, or why. Had he asked her why? He couldn't remember. All he remembered was the movement of her lips as she told him she had sneaked away while someone was sleeping. Darren? Devon? He couldn’t remember. And who was she talking about? She had left the Circle, that was all he could grasp from his memories of that conversation.

  
The tavern was hazy in his memory, and he remembered them clinking together two small glasses, “to goodbyes,” her voice said through his memory as they both drained the brown, burning liquid.

  
He turned through the large stone archway into the Circle Chantry, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He then opened them, swallowing down a sob as he gazed up at the statue of Andraste.

  
_Forgive me._

  
The next memory was a jumble of images and feelings, scents, and sounds. There was no beginning and no end. His fingers running through her hair, hers grabbing at his. Alone in a dark, musky room with thin bedsheets and a window with no curtains. Moonlight shining on her pale skin, his hands greedily exploring her body. The taste of her mouth on his, the feel of her hands on him, her mouth on him, her body against his, her gasping breath whispering his name in his ear -

  
A sob left his lips as he stood before Andraste, gripping the hilt of his sheathed sword tightly in his left hand as it hung at his hip. He rubbed his eyes with his right hand, taking a deep breath to collect himself.

  
The sun shining through the open window the next day, piercing through his deep slumber as his head pounded and his stomach roiled. It hurt to open his eyes, and he peered around the room, wondering how he had gotten there. Movement beside him caught his attention, and he had seen her laying against him. They were both naked.

  
Startled, he had moved clumsily from the bed, hurriedly found his clothes and dressed, and left without a word.

  
Thankfully, he had not run into anyone he knew as he left.

  
Mages were off limits. He would have been disciplined if he had been found in her bed. _Oh sweet Maker,_ in her bed. With her. The only woman he had ever loved, ever wanted, and he had given in to temptation.

  
And then, he had returned to chaos. Kinloch Hold was bustling as he returned to his quarters.

  
“Drank too much last night?” Thomas had asked him with a slap on the shoulder as he sat on his bed, face buried in his hands as his guilt and his hangover overwhelmed him.

He didn’t answer.

  
After sleeping for Maker knows how long, the Templars were summoned by Knight-Commander Greagoir. A blood mage had escaped the day before, and the Circle was tripling its security of the mages.

  
And that was when Cullen noticed her absence, as he did his rounds. She was gone. And he couldn’t ask anyone what had become of her, as he was sure that his guilt would be scrawled across his face.

  
Had it really been her who had come into the tavern that night? His nightmares were plagued with the memory, and yet at every point of climax, she turned into the dreadful, seductive form of a desire demon, horns and fiery eyes and sharp claws against his stomach, ready to tear out his very soul.

  
And he would awaken, soaked in cold sweat, praying that he had not cried out her name.

  
He was now kneeling before the stature of Andraste, hands clasped together above his head.

  
“Maker forgive me,” left his quivering lips.

  
He would never show weakness again. Mages could never be trusted, that had been said over and over again during training. Temptation was everywhere, that was clear from his education at the Chantry.

  
He would never show weakness again.


End file.
